


Some of us are looking at the stars

by ArandoraStar



Series: The awful daring of a moment's surrender [3]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Language, F/M, Siblings, Twins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 19:27:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8635228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArandoraStar/pseuds/ArandoraStar
Summary: A series of oneshots involving Nate and Grace and their friends, and all the wild adventures they get up to in the Commonwealth.Title comes from a quote by Oscar Wilde.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, I really wanted to explore the relationship between Grace and Nate. I had a lot of fun writing this story, so you'll probably see a lot more sibling fics in the future.

“This is a bad idea.”

“I’m pretty sure you think all of my ideas are bad ideas,” Grace replies.

“That’s because ninety percent of them are.”

“So you _do_ think some of my ideas are good?”

“Occasionally. Rarely.”

Nate stops suddenly, holding up a hand for Grace to do the same. They are quiet as they look at a painted warning sign. _Danger. Keep out._ It’s hanging on a black iron fence surrounding a pond.

“Hey, I remember this place,” Grace whispers. “Didn’t Nora’s family host a BBQ here last summer? Er, I mean, the summer before all this.”

Nate nods stiffly. “It was for her parent’s anniversary.”

“Yeah. That’s right. God. This is still weird.”

Nate hums in agreement. “You still sure about this? Piper says people don’t usually come back from the Common.”

Grace snorts. “Since when are you scared of a challenge? Plus. These ‘Railroad’ people might have intel on those Institute assholes.”

“Danse says these people are dangerous radicals who care only about saving synths.”

“Danse and his Brotherhood of Inbreds are dangerous radical bigots, and yet you still run with them from time to time.”

Nate’s lips twitch and Grace smiles at his attempt to hide his amused grin.

“Look,” she says, placing her hand on his shoulder, “Neither of these groups are ideal, I’m sure. But the Minutemen just don’t have the resources we need to get into the Institute. And, honestly, the Brotherhood consists of a bunch of meatheads who think busting down the door is the best way to infiltrate an organization and that civilian sacrifices are an acceptable means to an end. No offense, but I have more experience toppling regimes than you or those armored twats, so just trust me on this. These Railroad radicals are stealthy and resourceful, and we need a major dose of both of those if we’re going to rescue Shaun from the Institute. Besides that, they’re a much more viable option than trekking blindly into the Glowing Sea after a man that may or may not be dead already.”

Nate sighs, but nods in agreement. “I trust you.”

Grace smiles widely in return. “Good. Let’s move, then. This Freedom Trail ain’t gonna walk itself.”

Nate rolls his eyes and follows her quietly past the entrance to the pond. “Where does this trail even start?”

“You know this city better than I do. You tell me.”

“All I know is it was near this pond. Nora insisted we follow it when we first moved here, but we never had time,” he says, trailing off.

Grace reaches out and gently squeezes his shoulder, saying nothing. Nate sends her a soft smile, pulling her in for a one armed hug. Between the rifle and the sword strapped to her back, it’s an awkward gesture. But she adores all types of affection and this is no different.

A sign with a hand painted message captures Grace’s attention. “Check that out,” she says, pulling away and nodding towards the sign.

They move toward it. “At journey’s end, follow freedom’s lantern?” Nate reads.

Grace sighs. “I can’t decide if these guys are cheesy, or awesome.”

Nate sends Grace an exasperated look.

“What?” she asks. “I love riddles.”

Nate rolls his eyes and looks down at the emblem on the ground beneath them. “7 and an A. Some sort of code?”

Grace’s eyes brighten as they land on the red writing. “I _really_ love riddles.”

“Yes. I know,” Nate replies. “What do you think it means?”

“A is the 7th letter in the word,” Grace replies without pause.

Nate looks over at her with a raised brow. “You sure?”

“Positive. This is child’s play. How disappointing. Maybe these guys aren’t as clever as I was hoping.”

“We can always turn back.”

“Quit being a pansy. We’re walking this Freedom Trail, even if only for shits and giggles. Ooh! Look! A tour bot. Let’s see if it still works.”

“Uh, Gracie. That may not be a good idea.”

Grace rolls her eyes. “I swear to God, if I had a cap for every time you said that, I’d be the richest girl in the Commonwealth.”

The tour bot comes to life suddenly as Grace approaches its pod and moves toward her, clanking and making a racket.

“ _Welcome, Patriot, to Boston Common. The start of the Freedom Trail_ ,” the bot says joltingly, its voice cutting through the silence of the courtyard.

Grace was just beginning to smile, to form the words of her response, when a loud, terrifying roar erupted from the pond behind her. She turns in time to see a monstrous behemoth rise from the lake, a swan boat attached to its back and a metal weapon clenched in its hand.

“ _Feast your ears and learn more about the historic Freedom Trail and the history of Boston Common_ ,” the bot continues behind Grace.

“Fuck the Freedom Trail,” she replies over her shoulder, moving into action and snatching her rifle from her back.

“ _Starting here at Boston Common_ …”

Nate grabs his shotgun and turns to his sister. “Keep back. Shoot at its head. I’ll aim for its legs.”

“ _Follow the red path as it winds its way_ …”

“Don’t get too close. That fist looks deadly.”

“… _through our great city’s streets_.”

“That fist is mine when we kill this bastard.”

“ _Markers on the trail…”_

Grace laughs. “To the victor goes the spoils, asshole. We’ll see who’s wearing that fist at the end of this.”

“… _are placed at many famous historic sites.”_

They swap smiles before moving into positions and taking shots at the beast. It’s like artwork, the way the twins fight. They know it, and anyone who watches them in action knows it. They’ve always moved together with fluidity, even as toddlers. They learned how to crawl at the same time, helped each other stand up for the first time, and took their first steps holding hands. That togetherness, that natural intuition shared between them, never left.

Nate moves close, but stays out of range of the behemoth’s swinging fist. He’s strong and fast, and dodges obstacles swiftly, while still managing to rain shot after shot into the beast’s legs. Grace isn’t exactly comfortable with his proximity to the behemoth, but understands his strategy. So, she does as he commands and shoots round after round into the creature’s head and neck, dashing out of the way when the beast makes his way in her direction.

It’s a dance, really. They each play the part of the distraction and the offense. When the beast makes a move for Nate, Grace takes three shots. This captures its attention, turning its pursuit to her. Nate is then allowed a window to fire his shotgun at the behemoth’s legs. The cycle repeats.

But then Nate stumbles over a stone in the uneven paver pathway surrounding the pond, and this allows the behemoth an extra second to gain on him in its pursuit. The monstrosity of a weapon attached to its arm catches Nate in the gut and sends him flying across the courtyard.

“NATE!” Grace screams, running from her cover and shooting round after round into the behemoth’s head, desperate to distract him from the prone form of her brother lying in the street.

She’s quick, and before the behemoth can fully turn around and spot her, she’s made her way around the pond, facing the back of the beast. She knows she doesn’t have much time, and can’t waste the opportunity to take it down. It’s weak, she can tell that, and she’s down to her last few bullets, the rest in her pack on the other side of the pond.

The idea that strikes her is crazy, suicidal even, but she’s faced worse odds. She doesn’t take the idea to reflect on her new plan. Instead, she runs full speed at the shack built next to the pond, leaping to grab hold of the edge of the roof. She grins in memory of her roof hopping days in Malaysia and the kids that taught her how to scale the streets and rooftops, the same kids who turned her in to the government for what amounted to only five dollars each when they realized she was an American spy.

She pulls herself onto the metal roof with ease, the muscles in her upper body further toned by six months of life in this harsh environment. The metal is filled with holes, and she seriously doubts the stability of the beams beneath her. But it’s too late to turn back now.

The behemoth’s back is still turned to her, searching the other end of the pond for whoever had shot at it. Its skin is covered in blood, and she can see how weak it is in the jerky, sluggish movements it makes as it begins to turn around. It’s now or never.

Making sure to place her feet strategically where the beams should be beneath the metal roof under her, she takes off at full sprint, drawing her sword as she does so. She only has about seven feet to work with, so she hasn’t even reached full momentum when she throws herself with all of her weight and strength off the roof and onto the back of the behemoth.

It’s skin is so slimy from blood that she nearly slips off. She has to jam her sword into the neck of the beast and hold on to it to keep from falling. The behemoth roars in agony and outrage, swinging its meaty fists towards it’s back in an attempt to knock her off. She moves quickly, pulling herself up to the beast’s neck with her sword and straddling its shoulders. She doesn’t have much time, and has to dodge a swing from one of the beast’s hands as it grabs for her. Using all of her weight and strength, she yanks the sword out of the behemoths neck and swings it towards his throat. The sharp edge of the blade slices through skin and muscle, lodging itself in the cartilage of its esophagus. Bloods erupts from the wound, coating Grace and the beast itself. A choking sound emits from its throat and Grace works quickly, jerking the sword back and forth until the sharp blade has cut through.

The beast stops fighting and begins to fall. Grace squeals in panic, leaving her sword where it’s stuck in the beast’s neck and pushing herself to a standing position on its shoulders. Her foot slips, but she has enough power to push forward and away from the tumbling body of the dead behemoth so that she isn’t crushed by its landing.

She hits the water hard, and its not quite deep enough to cushion any landing. The impact leaves her jarred for a moment, suspended just slightly under water. She twitches in pain and rises from the water, choking for breath and on the putrid aroma of the water around her.

The behemoths body lay a few feet away from her. She stomps through the mucky water towards it, her movements jerky with pain. She rips her sword from the neck of the beast and it’s head falls from it’s shoulders.

“GRACE!” an enraged voice yells from across the pond.

Grace grins, yanking the behemoth’s head from the fetid water and turning around to face her livid brother. His face is the embodiment of rage and worry.

“Get your ass out of that water NOW!”

She snorts in amusement and moves to do what he _oh so_ _politely_ asked of her. The water sloshes around her hips as she wades out of it. Nate yanks her onto dry ground by her forearm as she approaches, sending a disgusted look at the head clutched in her hand.

“Are you out of your damn mind?” he bellows. “Do you have a death wish? What the hell is it with you and throwing yourself in the way of charging monsters?! First the deathclaw, now this?”

There’s a tremble in his lip that he can’t fully control, a furrow in his brow that isn’t quite anger. He was genuinely worried, terrified for her, just as she had been for him when the behemoth knocked him across the courtyard. People make rash decisions when those they love are in danger.

Grace smiles adoringly at her brother, even as he continues to rage at and berate her.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she says, interrupting him from his rant, her grin fading. “I thought you were…” She can’t finish that sentence.

Nate deflates. He pulls her in for a hug. “Don’t do that again. If I die, please just run.”

“Never.”

He sighs and holds her tighter. They pull away a few minutes later.

“What should we do with this?” Grace asks, holding up the head of the behemoth.

Nate grimaces and takes it from her, stomping over to the iron fence and jamming the head onto the spike of one of the posts.

“Ew,” Grace commented, her nose scrunching in distaste.

“You literally just sawed a behemoth’s head off with a sword and you’re complaining about me sticking it on a pike?”

“I didn’t really have time to think about how gross it was while it was happening.”

Grace walks back towards the tour bot pod, where she had dropped her pack.

“ _Welcome, Patriot, to Boston Common. The start of the Freedom Trail.”_

“Oh my God. You’re still going on about this place?” she says, reaching down to grab some spray paint from her pack.

“ _Let us go back hundreds of years,”_ it begins.

Grace groans and walks away from the bot. Nate sends her an amused look as she stomps over to the head of the behemoth and begins to spray a symbol on the ground near it.

“Still don’t get the point of you doing this,” Nate drawls.

“That’s because you’re no fun. It’s for effect. Don’t mess with the Hawthorne’s and you won’t wind up like this asshole.”

“You can be real scary, you know that?”

“Says the man who can shoot the wings off a bloodbug from a thousand yards away.”

“I doubt I could do it from that far.”

“Yeah, yeah. Can I borrow your shotgun?”

Nate passes the weapon over to her. “Sure. Why?”

Grace turns around and walks over to the tour bot (which is still going on about the Boston Common) and unloads three rounds into the protectron’s head. It collapses to the ground in front of her.

“What the hell was that for?” Nate asks. “

“It was a security risk,” Grace explains, handing the gun back to her brother. “Not sure why these Railroad people left it alone.”

“Not sure how a tour bot is a security risk.”

“The thing just explained to us exactly how to follow the trail. Any half-wit enemy of these people could easily find them thanks to that hunk of metal. Now, it’s no longer an issue. Also,” she says, reaching down to grab the plywood sign leaning against the dry fountain, “this is ridiculous. Quit making it obvious.” She moves across the courtyard and tosses the sign into the pond, fetching her rifle and pack before stomping towards the shack on the west end of the pond.

“Keep watch,” she throws over her shoulder. “I’m going to check that shack for scav. And change. Because ew.” She gestures at the gore on her wet clothes and shudders at the sight and smell.

She grabs the power fist on her way past the headless body of the beast. It’s heavy and dirty and she decides she doesn’t want it, even though she was the one to land the final blow on the behemoth.

There isn’t much she can take from the shack. A magazine and a can of purified water. She finds Edgar Swan’s journals and the hatred and rage she has for the Institute burns harshly in her chest. She should tell Nate. She knows that. But there’s also part of her that doesn’t want to hurt him further; that doesn’t want to inflict any more fear on him than he already holds. These _monsters_ have Shaun. That in itself is terrifying enough. To know that they experiment on their own as punishment makes one wonder what they’d do to someone they don’t consider their own. No. She can’t put any more stress on her brother. He needs to be focused. They both do.

She changes into a pair of ripped cargo pants and a grey tank top she pulled from her pack before setting the shack on fire. She heads back across the pond to her brother, who watches her with crossed arms and a raised brow.

“Don’t ask,” she mumbles, walking up to him.

He concedes, his trust in her greater than his curiosity. It makes her throat tight.

She passes him the power fist. He looks it over briefly before tossing it aside.

“It’s too heavy,” he explains when she sends him a questioning look.

“I also found this,” she offers, holding out the Grognak magazine.

Nate’s face softens as he accepts the gift, reaching around to put it in his pack.

“Almost thirty years old and still a kid,” Grace jokes.

Nate grins. “Speak for yourself.”

“Well, let’s get this show on the road,” Grace says clapping her hands. “ _Weeee’rrreeee off to see the wizard! The wonderful wizard of Oz!”_

Nate chuckled. “The brick road is red this time, Dorothy.”

“Details.”

It takes them not even five minutes to make it to the first stop of the Freedom Trail. The seal in front of the Massachusetts state house gives them the clue ‘4L,’ and it makes Grace snort.

Nate sends her a bemused look. “What?”

“Nothing,” she says with a smirk.

Nate rolls his eyes. “It’s not as cute as you think it is when you try to act mysterious.”

She sends him a mock offended look. “How rude. Have you no love for your sister?”

“I have all the love for my sister, but no patience. Can we move on now?”

Grace scoffs. “Lead the way then, sir, uh – back the way we came. Great. These people are going to send us all over the damn city, apparently.”

Nate takes the lead and they follow the trail past a graveyard, putting down a handful of ghouls as they pass through, and then past the gates of Goodneighbor.

“Hey! Maybe we should stop in and say hello to Hancock,” Grace comments as they walk by the corner that turns towards the entrance to Goodneighbor. “Haven’t seen the guy in a few weeks.”

Nate scowls at the mention of the ghoul. “How about no?”

Grace snickers. “Awe. Come on, Nate. Hancock isn’t so bad.”

“He’s a little too…handsy with you for my liking.”

“He’s harmless.”

“Grace, he literally murdered someone in front of us not thirty seconds after we walked through the front doors our first time.”

“To be fair, that guy was a complete asshole who threatened us. I was planning on shooting him before Hancock stepped in and that probably wouldn’t have boded well for us considering we were strangers.”

“He almost got you killed with all that Silver Shroud shit.”

“A+ on alliteration. But that _wasn’t_ Hancock’s deal. I did that for Kent.”

“It happened in his town.”

“Technically, I almost died outside of Goodneighbor.”

“Fine. I just don’t like him.”

Grace laughed. “You don’t like any man that gives me attention. Hancock is a good man. His methods are questionable, but he’s a good man at the end of the day.”

“Can’t you just go for a guy like Garvey?”

“One, I’m not ‘going’ for anyone. Don’t need a man, and don’t have time for one. And two, fuck no I won’t go for some guy who has hearts in his eyes every time _you_ walk in the room. Nor will I _go_ for someone so goddamn needy.”

Nate snorts. “The man has just as many hearts when he looks at you. He idolizes you.”

“I’m the General of the Minutemen,” she says with pride. “Of course he fucking idolizes me. But, I’m not exactly his type. I’m lacking a certain swinging appendage between my thighs.”

Nate laughs, and it’s deep and charming and makes Grace smile brightly in return. She lives for the moments when she can make him happy. He deserves it more than anyone she knows, and she knows no one who has suffered as much as him.

“And of course you’d want me to lust after someone who would never even consider touching me. Ugh. You can be such a dick sometimes.”

“It’s my job to be a dick when it comes to you. I’m your older brother.”

“By like seven minutes. And if I do recall, it was _moi_ who got in fights to defend your honor when all your little girlfriends went batshit.”

Nate chuckles. “I didn’t have to fight anyone, because I scared them all off before they ever got to you.”

Grace scowls. “Such a dick,” she says under her breath.

Nate grins at her before looking ahead. “Faneuil Hall is up ahead. Nora took me there once on a date. It was around Christmas and it was freezing but she insisted on getting ice cream. We watched these kids singing carols in the courtyard in front of the building and she told me she wanted a big family. That’s when I first realized I loved her.”

Nora stops him and pulls him in for a hug, slipping her hands beneath the guns strapped to his back and holds him tight. He returns the gesture, resting his chin on the top of her head.

“Sometimes, there’s a moment when I’m just starting to wake up where I believe this was all a terrible dream,” he says quietly. “And then I open my eyes and I realize I’m still trapped in it.”

“Me too,” Grace replies just as quiet. She pulls back slightly and looks up at Nate’s handsome face. He’s staring at nothing in particular, caught up for a moment in the tragedy of their existence. She gently takes his face in her hands and urges him to look down at her. He does so, his eyes focusing on her face.

“But we’re not,” she says. “This isn’t a dream. Nora is gone. Shaun is in the hands of the Institute. And we’ve got work to do.”

Nate’s jaw clenches and he nods, his gaze dropping from her own.

“When this is over, and Shaun is safe, we’ll mourn. I promise.”

Nate reaches up and gently pulls her hands away from his face. He sighs, placing a kiss on her forehead before pulling away.

“I know.”

Faneuil Hall is infested with super mutants. There’s a rage that fills Nate’s countenance when they come around the corner and lay eyes on the decrepit building decorated in gore and filth. There is no hesitation. Nate takes point and Grace follows him and they lay waste to the creatures that defiled sacred ground.

When they’re finished, they drag the bodies of the monsters to the fire burning in front of the building. They paint their calling card and a warning to all not to enter on the front doors of the hall. _This is holy ground, and those that defile it will face our judgment._

They are quiet the rest of the journey, picking off a pack of mongrels and a few disoriented raiders high off their asses. Grace angrily knocks down their flesh totems and sets the entire camp on fire.

“I hate raiders,” she seethes.

Nate places a calming hand on her shoulders and they move on.

The sun is just beginning to set when they come upon the Old North Church. All but the tower of the building is drenched in shadows. There’s something eerie and poetic about the image.

Nate and Grace stop for a moment outside of the church.

“The trail ends right at the church,” Nate says.

Grace nods, but doesn’t look away from the shadows creeping slowly up the building as the sun continues to set.

“Think they’re in there?”

“Oh, most definitely,” Grace replies without hesitation.

“Think they’re friendlies?”

She snorts a laugh and turns to look at her brother with a reassuring smile.

“Considering how many ‘Join the Railroad’ holotapes we’ve found in our path over the last few weeks, I’d say they want us to find them.”

Nate scowls.

Grace grins. “You can’t still be sore about the pack incident?”

Two weeks ago, Grace and Nate crashed for a night at Bunker Hill. When they woke the next morning, the scav in Nate’s pack that he had been planning on selling that morning was missing. Instead, his pack was filled to the brim with holotapes, all with the same Railroad message. Grace thought it was hilarious. Nate was livid.

(None of Grace’s stuff was missing that morning. Whoever left behind the holotapes clearly knew that Nate was the one who didn’t want to follow the Freedom Trail. It took Grace up until that very morning they set out for the Common to convince him they needed to find the Railroad.)

“I can be as sore as I like. Whoever the fucking prick is that replaced my shit with those holotapes is going to get an up close look at my fist.”

“Pretty sure that isn’t the best first impression we should give them.”

“And asking Elder Maxson about the size of his dick is?”

“I did _not_ ask him about his dick.”

“You implied.”

“It’s only an implication if someone thinks something is being implied.”

“You literally asked him if his massive steel ship was compensating for something.”

“It was a valid question!”

“It was disrespectful, insubordinate, and rude.”

“I’ll take the first and the last, but I am not one of his brotherhood lackies, and therefore cannot be insubordinate.”

Nate huffs and looks back towards the church. “Let’s just get this over with. It’s getting dark and I don’t want to get ambushed out here with my ass exposed.”

“The party doesn’t start till the pants drop.”

“Jesus, Grace. Shut the fuck up and get your godless ass in that church.”

Grace snickers and hops up the stairs, taking note of the final seal on the ground in front of the building. 1R. She snorts a disbelieving laugh and pushes the old, heavy door open. It creaks loudly, the sound echoing through the tomblike atrium. She draws the pistol from her right thigh holster and moves silently into the room, Nate right behind her. The door squeals and thuds heavily as it closes, and the groaning sounds of feral ghouls join the other echoes in the building.

They dispose of the few sluggish ghouls and explore the destroyed nave. A few of the upper floors of the church had caved in, making it hard to navigate the area.

“Grace,” Nate calls from one end of the church. “There’s a hallway over here.”

Grace turns away from the ruined piano she had been staring at longingly and looks over at her brother, who was moving some debris from a fallen balcony. He clambers underneath the ruins and disappears.

Grace crosses the room and crouches down to crawl through the rubble after him. The hallway they are standing in is lit only by the light of Nate’s pipboy and the eerie green glow of some irradiated fungus.

Nate takes point and leads Grace down a few flights of stairs, passing the bodies of several decaying ghouls.

“These were killed a while ago,” Nate says quietly into the silence.

They come down the last flight of stairs and around a corner, finding themselves in the basement of the church.

“Oh, great,” Grace says sarcastically. “Catacombs. How appropriate.”

Nate cracks a grin, but doesn’t reply to her comment. He aims his shotgun down the hallway, checking for more ferals. There’s a skeleton leaning across a brick wall with a symbol painted on it.

“This was on the fallen balcony above the doorway we came through,” Grace says, walking up to the wall and running a hand across the symbol. It smears slightly. She pulls her hand away and looks at the white residue on her palm. She grins. “Chalk.”

“There’s a feral up there,” Nate says, nodding down the hallway.

“I assume there are several down here,” she says, wiping her hand on her pants. She frowns at the blood splatter on her clothes. “Dammit. I didn’t realize I’d made such a mess earlier.”

Nate grins. “You might scare off these Railroaders before we’re even properly introduced.”

“You’d love that.”

Nate hums in agreement, lifting his shotgun and aiming at the ghoul ambling towards them, still unaware of their presence.

He shoots the ghoul in the head, the shot reverberating loudly through the catacombs.

“Goddammit!” Grace shouts, rubbing her ears. “Warn a girl, will you?”

“Don’t be a baby.”

Grace grumbles, holstering her pistol and pulling her sword from its scabbard across her back.

“Why don’t you put the shotgun away before you deafen both of us, Ash Williams.”

Nate chuckles and holsters his shotgun across his back. He pulls out a combat knife and gestures for Grace to lead.

“Go ahead, Ms. Beatrix Kiddo, if you think you can lead better.”

Grace rolls her eyes and all but stomps down the tight hallway. There are more than a few ghouls that charge towards the pair as they make their way through the catacombs. Grace cuts them down with ease, only stumbling once when rushed by two of them. Nate takes out one of them and she finishes off the other.

“You good?”

“Peachy. Check that out,” she says, nodding towards one of the walls of the catacombs, where a red wire connects what appears to be a wall and another Freedom Trail seal.

They move closer.

“Another clue?” Nate asks.

“Nah,” Grace replies, reaching over to spin the outer ring of the seal. “This is the doorbell.”

She quickly spells out the word RAILROAD. The wall to the left of the seal shutters and opens with a groan.

Grace grins. “Is it just me, or do you feel a little bit like Indiana Jones right now?”

“I’m going to be pissed if we get chased by a giant boulder down these narrow hallways.”

Grace laughs. “Don’t lie. You’d love it.”

Nate quirks a grin and holsters his knife. He looks over at her. “What’s the plan, Boss?”

“Ooh. Am I the boss now? All this power feels pretty good.”

Nate rolls his eyes. “Guns up or out.”

“Are those my only options?”

Nate doesn’t respond, but keeps his gaze leveled on her.

Grace sighs. “Guns away. I’m like 99% positive this isn’t a trap.”

“And you’re willing to bet our lives on 1%?”

“I’ve bet them on much worse odds,” Grace mumbles.

“Okay,” Nate says, moving through the doorway.

Grace follows behind him silently. It seems almost darker down this hallway than the others, no glowing fungus to add to the weak light emitting from Nate’s pipboy.

Grace is just about to open her mouth and comment on the darkness when a floodlight shines on them. The shift from darkness to light is acute enough to blind them momentarily.

“Stop right there,” a feminine voice commands loudly.

Grace lowers her hand from her eyes and takes in the sight in front of them. Three people stand across the room from them, two women and a man. One woman, the one on the left, is armed with a mean looking machine gun. The man on the right is holding a pistol pointing in their direction. The other woman standing between the two of them is unarmed, but radiates such total confidence that Grace can’t contain her admiring grin.

“You went to a lot of effort to arrange this meeting. But before we go any further, answer my questions. Who the hell are you?”

Grace takes a step forward to stand beside her brother. She places a hand on her cocked hip and sends the woman across from her a confident grin.

“Mmm. I love a woman in charge.”

“Don’t,” her brother says next to her in warning, crossing his arms. (It’s so he appears more threatening. He denies or ignores it when Grace brings it up, but she knows it’s true.)

Grace’s smile only widens as the people across from her send her disbelieving looks.

“Why don’t you tell us who you are first,” Nate demands.

“In a world full of suspicion, treachery, and hunters – we’re the synths’ only friends. We are the Railroad. So answer my question.”

“We followed the Freedom Trail looking for you guys,” Grace replies nonchalantly. “We’re not your enemy, sweetheart.”

The lady sends Grace an annoyed look at the endearment. “If that’s true, then you have nothing to fear. Who told you how to contact us?”

Grace chuckles airily. “Don’t play coy, love. You wanted us here. Made that obvious with all the holotapes you scattered in our path. Don’t worry, we’ve brought them back to you.”

It’s then that she notices him. He’s subtle, slinking out of the shadows as though he belonged in them and moving towards the people stood in front of Grace and her brother. There’s something captivating about him, even though it’s clear as day that every part of him was designed to be overlooked. His hair, his clothes, the shades on his face. This was a man who had made himself unnoticeable, and yet Grace recognizes him the moment she sees his face; specifically, the moment she sees his sunglasses. Her lips quirk in a wicked grin and her eyes never leave his approaching form.

The lady’s eyes narrow in thought. “We’ll look into it. I’m Desdemona, and I’m the leader of the Railroad, and you are…” Desdemona begins, before noticing the new presence. “Deacon – where have you been?”

“You’re having a party. What gives with my invitation?” the man, Deacon, asks, his voice accented and smooth. The hairs on the back of Grace’s neck stand on end and her breath catches so slightly, no one could notice.

“I need intel. Who are they?”

“Wow. Newsflash, boss, these guys are kind of a big deal out there,” Deacon replies, and Grace can’t help herself.

“Have we met, handsome?” she asks, sending him a flirtatious smirk. “I think I recognize those shades. You ever worked in Diamond City?”

She might be the only one in the room who notices his hesitation, and even she almost misses it. But it’s there – in the slightest hitch in his breath, the twitch at the corner of his lips, and the brief flex of his right hand. She’s surprised him. She smiles wider.

“Nah,” he drawls. “Big cities don’t do it for me. I’m what you could call – a fan of yours and your brother’s.” His voice is somehow smooth and rough at the same time, and she has to physically restrain herself from licking her lips.

“Awe, sugar,” she says with a grin. “If you want an autograph, all you gotta do is ask. We don’t charge – much.”

A sharp elbow to her side pulls a laugh from her. She bites her lip to try and contain her amusement, but it doesn’t work and she doesn’t care. Nate is clearly annoyed by all her flirting (he always has been) and the other Railroad agents in front of them are either amused (like the white haired bombshell with the machine gun) or unimpressed by her antics.

“You the asshole who has been stalking us?” Nate asks, his signature glare resting on the man named Deacon.

Deacon’s grin is confirmation enough for the both of them. “I don’t need to stalk you to know the good you two are doing for the Commonwealth. The Railroad owes you a crate, hell, a truckload of Nuka-Cola for what you did to Kellogg. He was our public enemy numero uno.” He turns to Desdemona. “Dez, seriously, you haven’t heard of her? She’s the leader of the Minutemen. Seems like the whole Commonwealth is flying her flag.”

“Not yet,” Grace interjects, with a lethal grin, “but they will be.”

“And he’s the one that cleared Fort Strong for the Brotherhood. He’s like one of their main knights or something.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Nate says gruffly.

“I’d say he’s the best knight they have in the whole organization,” Grace cuts in, “but that’s not saying much considering the whole Brotherhood is full of boneheads and bozos.”

Nate sends her an irritated look and she laughs. The agents across the room seem amused by her statement, especially the man in the shades.

“So, you’re vouching for them?” Desdemona asks, not taking her eyes off of the twins.

“Yes. Definitely. We want them on our side,” Deacon responds, looking between them, before settling his gaze on Grace.

Grace’s own gaze lingers on him as she fiddles with the knife at her thigh. The grin that’s been playing around her lips through the entire encounter doesn’t fade, but her confidence is slightly shaken – not that she’d ever admit it. Pride is something she and her brother share to a fault.

She’s always operated in the shadows, under false names and lives. To be so exposed is unnatural to her. She doesn’t agree with a lot of Nate’s methods – specifically allowing Piper to write that article about them (they still fight about this) – but she’ll follow him to Hell and back if it means protecting him and saving his son. And the Hell thing is still an option if this Railroad thing doesn’t pan out.

“That changes things,” Desdemona says. “Why did you seek us out?”

“You mean besides your obvious attempts to get our attention?” Grace retorts with a pointed look at Deacon, who only grins in response.

“My son, Shaun, was kidnapped. We’re looking for help to find him,” Nate responds.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Desdemona responds softly. “For your sake, I hope the Institute isn’t involved.”

“They are,” Grace pipes in. “Kellogg was the one who took him.”

“Well, you certainly got your revenge. But that doesn’t bring your boy back. I can have Deacon look into this. If anyone can find out where your boy is, it’s him.”

“Shaun is in the Institute,” Nate replies. “We know that for a fact.”

“I don’t know what to say,” she replies after a few quiet moments. “There’s not much we can do for you, if that’s the case.”

Nate sighs and turns to look at his sister, who holds his gaze for a few seconds before turning back to the people in front of them.

“Look, you’ve done your research. You know a lot of the stuff we’ve done,” she says, catching eyes with Deacon briefly before returning her gaze to the woman in charge. “But you don’t know who we are. So, when I tell you this, know that I mean it.” She pauses for a moment and the room is tense with anticipation. No one is smiling anymore. “We’re going to get into the Institute. We’re going to save Shaun. And then we’re going to blow that that place sky high. You can be a part of that if you want. In the end, we don’t give a shit who helps us get there, because trust me on this, we will get there – with or without help. The Institute will pay for what it’s done to our family; for what it’s done to the Commonwealth; to synths. The only way this ends is with the Institute in flames.”

There’s a poignant tension in the room. All eyes are riveted to Grace, who stares unblinkingly at Desdemona. Neither breaks eye contact for a long time. Finally, the stern redhead cracks a grin.

“I’m glad we’re on the same page. I think it would be beneficial for us to work together towards a common goal.”

Grace’s stern façade breaks and she smiles confidently at the leader. “I’m glad you think so.”

“We’ll talk further inside, but before we do, I have a question for you, one I believe I already know the answer to. Would you – both you – risk your lives for your fellow man, even if that man was a synth?”

Grace looks up at her brother.

“I once pledged my life to protect my countrymen. This world, and the people in it, are no different. That pledge remains.”

Grace turns back to Desdemona. “We risk our lives everyday for the people of the Commonwealth. It doesn’t matter to us if they’re human or synth.”

“Well said. We can speak further inside,” she replies, before turning and walking through the doorway behind her.

Grace turns to her brother with a grin as the rest of the agents follow their leader into the Railroad headquarters.

“See? Not all of my ideas are bad.”

“I’m still not convinced this is one of the good ones,” Nate replies, his eyes narrowed on the retreating back of Deacon.

Grace tosses her head back and groans. “You are impossible.”

“I’m cautious,” he corrects.

“Says the man who spilled his entire life story to a pretty reporter and let her publish it in her newspaper.”

“She’s not just some pretty reporter. She’s my soulmate.”

“AHA! I knew it! I knew that was the reason you let her write that article about us. Feeding me that bullshit about finding people to help us. HA. You, sir, are _soft._ ”

Nate scowls and pushes past his sister to follow the Railroad agents into their headquarters. “And you are fucking annoying.”

Grace follows after him. “No. I’m _right._ Like usual.”

“You’re a pest.”

“Sticks and stones, big bro.”


End file.
